


hand in hand

by Beans (provetheworst)



Category: Universal Century Gundam
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23666656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/provetheworst/pseuds/Beans
Summary: Garma finds a painting of a cat and decides Char needs to see it too.
Relationships: Char Aznable/Garma Zabi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	hand in hand

It’s pushing one AM on a Saturday-turned-Sunday when Garma Zabi makes the worst mistake of his life so far. Political tensions have been ratcheting up steadily, but he’s not one to turn down an invitation to a Vist family party; this mansion, on a small colony in Side 2, is new-built and just as stately as the one on Industrial 7 or any number of others the family owns.

Going to the party, in and of itself, is not necessarily the mistake. Accepting the invitation is - probably - not the mistake.

The mistake is this: he finds a painting. As a rule, Garma has not seen many animals in his life, but this particular painting has an image of a cat so completely baffling, so unlike any image of a cat he’s seen, that he decides he can’t be the only person who gets to laugh at it.

And who better to show this weird piece of medieval ephemera to than his very best friend? Garma may be a few drinks deep, his decision making may be a bit impaired, but that is not enough to stop him from sidling his way into a gaggle of girls and staring at Char intently with the hopes that Char will get the hint.

Char, the bastard, quirks an eyebrow at him, then immediately turns his attention back to the young lady he was talking to. “You should take pride in being a spacenoid,” Char’s telling her, earnest, if a bit smug about it; “What is there to be ashamed of?”

“It doesn’t seem at all weird to you that - we’re from Earth, our whole species is from Earth, but we’re not allowed to go?”

“Surely you can manage a trip,” Char says. His smile grows ruthless in a way only Garma seems to notice. “Oh, or is that your angle? Bold of you!”

“You’ve been there,” the woman says, accusingly.

Char bows. “Guilty as charged. Whatever can I do to make it up to you?”

“Char,” Garma says, plaintively, because there is no way this conversation is as important as the funny cat painting. He is not at all jealous in the least of watching Char’s charms turned on some spoiled rich girl. That would be absurd. “Char. Char, listen.”

“You have a suggestion, Garma?”

“No,” Garma says, and then he makes his grave mistake; does the most foolish thing he’s done in nineteen years of life: he squares his shoulders, straightens his posture, and he grabs Char’s hand.

Char, to his credit, barely reacts.

“I found a painting. It’s got a cat, and you need to see it,” Garma explains, and the drink is getting to him more than he realized because he feels especially flushed all of a sudden. He ignores years of manners and rules drilled into him and drags Char away from the group without a word of further explanation to them.

“This must be some painting,” Char says. His hand is very warm in Garma’s. He shifts his fingers, and Garma is convinced Char’s going to pull away and he feels a flash of despair, absurdly enough, because what is there to despair about in that, but. Instead of pulling away, Char threads his fingers through Garma’s. 

Baffling. Terrifying. Garma has made a mistake and now there is no escape. His mouth is dry and he’s leading Char by the hand through a party full of people, and Char’s asking him something but Garma can’t hear a word of it because he’s too busy trying to figure out a good way to explain that, oops, sorry, he’s not up to being in physical contact with anyone right now, nor indeed is he up to physically existing in the world at all and if he could please just be allowed to evaporate into mist that would be very nice thank you.

Char’s not even really following behind him, anymore, more at his side.

Garma hates this. He hates this so much. He cannot believe he’s done this to himself. Of course, despite everything, Char is as calm as ever, like there is nothing the least bit odd about letting Garma lead him around by the hand. “So, where is it?”

Garma swallows, because this part means going upstairs to an abandoned hallway, and dragging Char upstairs from the main floor of the party is - well, it’s not something he hasn’t daydreamed about, he’s had all kinds of thoughts in his head before, but right now his head is empty except for how he’s thinking about everyone at the party looking at them. (They are not, necessarily, but a few people are, and that’s bad enough.)

Char tightens his grip. If Garma didn’t know better he’d interpret it as a threat. Char may be - a bit weird, a bit intimidating, but he doesn’t seem to bear Garma any actual ill will. He’s just not great at expressing his friendship all the time, and doesn’t always follow social cues in the proscribed manner. For a very long time now, Garma’s been fine with that; it’s always sort of reassured him, in a weird way, that Char is so weird and intense. Awkward in a way he manages to hide from most everyone else, that only Garma really seems to comprehend. Proof that even Char Aznable isn’t totally perfect, hidden away behind his sunglasses or that stupid visor. 

Tonight, thankfully, is a sunglasses night, instead of the visor, so Garma doesn’t have to feel quite so bad about how deeply he’s considering Char’s profile and relative handsomeness compared to other partygoers. The visor always ruins the magic a little. Garma can’t bring himself to say a word about it, ever.

Up the stairs it is, then, since Char isn’t letting go. Garma is not going to be one-upped by Char this time, not now. If Char’s up for the challenge of being seen and known, then so is Garma! Probably, maybe. It’s fine. He’s fine.

He wants another drink.

Instead, he gets to the landing at the top of the stairs, and turns down a hall, and Char leans in to whisper to his ear, “Why, Garma. Taking the initiative?”

“There really is a painting,” Garma stammers out, faintly.

The hall seems so much longer than it did earlier when Garma was just trying to avoid the party and catch his breath. (He likes the party very much; he’d just - one of his friends had made a joke about Char and he’d gotten flustered and he needed a moment. He certainly hadn’t hid or run away. He’s a man of the Zabi family and he’s very brave.)

He stops, finally, because there it is, with its gaudy gold frame. The painting’s a good six feet tall. It shows a nobleman in a fancy tunic. On his lap is the cat. The worst cat Garma has ever seen in his life. It looks strangely muscular; it’s wall-eyed; it has human eyebrows and a weird, awful little mouth.

Char stares up at the painting. Garma stares up at Char staring up at the painting.

“There really is a painting,” Char agrees. He is still holding Garma’s hand. Garma is still holding his hand. It could be said they’re holding each other’s hands. That seems like a bit much, but still. An outsider would see it that way and, if they used those words for it, they wouldn’t necessarily be wrong. Here is the thing: at this point, Garma is taking this as a challenge, or a competition, maybe. He will not be the one to let go before Char does. He can't back down now.

“I can’t say I’ve seen a cat in person before, but I can tell that’s not what a cat looks like,” Garma says, trying to sound confident and clever and funny. He can be all those things; he knows this. He’s been to plenty of parties without Char and managed to be perfectly charming and regular at all of them. It’s the presence of long-time rival and best friend Char Aznable that ruins his ability to act normally.

“You haven’t?” Char asks. He sounds genuinely surprised, and, possibly, genuinely interested in an answer.

“Not even once.”

Char seems to take this into consideration, before asking, “Would you like to?”

“To - see a cat?”

“Yes.”

Garma stares at him. The expression on his face seems earnest enough. His hand is still very warm; in a way, that grip is steadying, now. The fact that neither of them has let go even though they’ve reached their destination and there’s no reason at all for Char to continue allowing this is - it’s a fact, certainly. Garma can’t process it much beyond that.

Char flashes him a grin as brilliant as the flash of a particle cannon. “I could make it happen.”

“You - how?” Garma asks, incredulous. It’s very stupid that the promise of seeing a cat is making his heart race. That, he decides, is what’s doing it. Not anything about Char Aznable’s dangerously bright smile, which threatens at any moment to obliterate him.

“You’ve got your connections, I’ve got mine,” Char says. “Really, I would have thought you’d be able to track one down if you wanted. You’re the Zabi here.”

Garma has never cared this much about seeing a cat in his life. “I’m sure I could have,” he tries, weakly. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to bother. I can handle it myself.”

“No, no, no,” Char laughs, “never you fear, I’ll find a cat for you, or my name isn’t Char Aznable.”

A long pause.

“I winked,” Char says, helpfully.

“I couldn’t see it.”

“Well, yes, I figured that out.”

They are still holding hands.

Garma feels as if he has completely lost control of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> i am on twitter @aflightybroad and on mastodon @aflightybroad@goblin.camp and i am always thinking about garma zabi


End file.
